


A Mage's Journey

by Pastellorama



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Mage, Short, Skyrim - Freeform, Werewolf, Winterhold, frostfall - Freeform, mod mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 21:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12067050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastellorama/pseuds/Pastellorama
Summary: Skyrim is a harsh and cold land, and one mage finds herself on a perilous but necessary journey.





	A Mage's Journey

“By the nines!” Rita hissed under her breath, her voice muffled by a thick scarf. Her breath was visible upon the bitter air of Skyrim, her yellow eyes the only exposed part of her face as she trudged through the snow. Winterhold… she just needed to reach Winterhold. The city had once been nothing but a gathering of sad hovels, the city itself having fallen into the sea during a great quake. It had been great before then, the residents accusing the Mages college for the loss of their city and the death of their friends and family, but they had since recovered and learned to trust again. The city was great again, now thriving and full of young aspiring mages.

All this had come to pass after the Dragonborn had slain Alduin, the world eater, before taking on the role of Arch-Mage at the College of Winterhold. That had happened some ten years ago, when Rita had been only nine. She had distant and faint memories of the destruction of Helgen.

She had been there, but no one remembered that. She was just a dirty orphan, no one had paid her any mind. She remembered seeing a young Bosmer man as he was led to the chopping block. He was to be put to death for being a Stormcloak rebel—Rita had never seen the sense in this logic, Bosmer’s were not exactly the sort to volunteer for a cause that would wipe them out…. It hadn’t mattered though—before the axe could be swung, a tremendous roaring had filled the skies and shaken the very earth they stood on. Alduin, the world eater, had come.

It was then that Rita first cast a spell, awakening the mage blood within her and… accidentally paralyzing herself. She’d collapsed, as though dead, against a pile of rubble. Fatigued by the burst of magicka from herself, Rita had passed out and did not stir again until the dragon was long gone, the flames had died out, and she was awoken by a bandit shaking her gently.

“Soris…” Rita whispered, remembering her Nord bandit friend. He’d claimed her as a “pet” to protect her from the other bandits. He’d taught her simple things to survive—how to build a fire, how to skin fresh game, how to cook… Soris had given her so much. The final thing he had bestowed upon her had been a secret—the other bandits never knew, and Soris never let on though Rita realized now that it had been obvious all along. His golden eyes had been glinting and hinting for so long… Rita remembered being scared and thrilled all at once, her chest tight and her finger nails digging into her palms as Soris transformed into a monstrous beast. He took a knife, his gruesome claws holding it surprisingly delicately, and sliced open his left paw. Blood poured from his palm as he’d beckoned Rita forward. Cautiously, Rita had drank his tainted blood.

“Soris….?” Rita said again, her steps slowing. It was so cold… too cold. Her clothing was covered in frost, her eyelashes heavy with ice and her vision blurred. Where was she? How much further to Winterhold? Rita trudged forward a few more steps, her legs heavy as she found it harder and harder to move. _Dying… you are dying of hypothermia…._ Rita fell face forward into the snow, a soft grunt escaping her just before she lost consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> I am unsure if I will ever do more with this piece, but it is always possible.


End file.
